"Warchief, you must eat." A servant said, nearly pleading, his hands holding the steaming platter of mead roasted boar.

It was a whole baby boar on a platter, dribbling with juices, with a cactus apple in his mouth. Thick slices of bread lay spread on the side, a simple meal, but Garrosh's favorite. Garrosh shook his head but offered not a word, flicking his hand for the meal to be removed from his presence. Frightened, but concerned for his Warchief, the servant tried again, pressing the tempting meal in front of him. Garrosh just ignored him then, his eyes dull and distant. With a resigned sigh the servant placed the platter on a nearby table, bowing once and then departing.

Three days, Garrosh had not eaten a thing. Three days since he had practically sent Zaela to her doom. In the dead silence of the night he had wept for her. Had one been able to see the soul, it would have been a crumbling mess.

For two days he had scoured the defeated Red-fist base, where they could. Cho'gall had secured the mountain path, making it impossible to extend their search with many, and none that didn't have stealth. Cozwyn had left a Dragonmaw named Gorcall in charge as she went to look for any survivors on the mountain. Garrosh would have stayed longer had he not had duties in Orgrimmar. It had been torturous for him to stop looking, but his time did not belong to him alone, he had a nation to lead.

Now every time he had tried to eat he found his belly to full of disgust and sorrow to swallow even a morsel of food. Because of his foolishness she was dead and he had sent her to die, literally telling the enemy her battle strategy. With an ingenious monster like Cho'gall leading the Red-fist, Zaela probably hadn't even known what hit her before she was torn to shreds wondering where she had failed.

He regretted the last meeting they had had, screaming at her in a bloody rage pushing his will to be done, and after she stood her ground, calling her weak, one of the highest insults for an orc, and watching the pain dance across her face, as he sneered at her. Had she gone through so much at Crushblow to prove to him she was not a weakling? The thought stabbed at his heart harder than any blade could have. It made him desire to fall off the face of the earth so no one would ever remember there had been a Garrosh Hellscream the murderous fool.

Running a hand across his face, he cursed himself silently; he might as well have driven the blade into her heart personally. So deep in his self loathing he didn't register there was knocking at his chamber door until it was bellowing through the room.

"What." He muttered sullenly sinking lower into his chair. He desired nothing, and didn't wish to be seen, the servants knew that, and yet they pressed him.

"Lady Proudmoore has arrived." The guard announced, his gruff voice muffled by the door, but visibly laced with concern.

Garrosh sighed, making a beckoning gesture. "Let her in."

Garrosh was famous for his hatreds of humans, but when he asked to see the ruler of Theramoore, all who dwelled with-in the hold had assumed Garrosh could have possibly gone mad with grief. Only Garrosh himself knew that wasn't the case but didn't care to tell his people otherwise.

The oaken door creaked open only a fraction as the tall slender figure of Jaina Proudmoore slipped inside. She closed the door gently, before turning to Garrosh. He looked a mess, which was the nicest way to put it; armor left on its stand, axe carelessly tossed aside, curtains and blankets thrown askew in a rage.

Jaina did well, hiding the surprise of it all and walked slowly to a chair opposite of the dull eyed, sullen faced Garrosh. She sat slowly taking a bit more time to gauge what was wrong with the usually energetic, and brash Hellscream. If she hadn't known better she'd say he had been…weeping.

His brown eyes searched Jaina's blue as if he was seeking answers in their azure orbs, but what possible answers to what puzzling questions evaded her. She still didn't know why he had sent a messenger to her out of the blue, but knew his current attitude had to have something to do with it.

Neither said anything for long minutes until Jaina took it upon herself to speak. "So, Warchief Hellscream, why have you asked to see me?" She asked curious.

Garrosh turned his head away from her, licking his dry lips before he spoke. He needed a moment, not wanting his voice to betray him. "How do you cope?" He asked gruffly.

Jaina's brows knitted together in confusion, the sorceress, placed both hands in her lap, leaning forward slightly. He wasn't asking war questions, he was asking personal ones, making the meeting supremely more interesting for the arch mage. "With what?"

"With the sorrow." He explained his voice dry and husky. "With the pain knowing you and Thrall can never be together how you would both wish to be. Knowing you love him with all your heart but he'll be forever out of your reach till the end of your days. How do you cope with that, Jaina Proudmoore?"

The room fell into a mournful silence once more, the only sound of Garrosh's heavy breathing resounding in the chamber. He looked upon the sorceress; her head now bowed, to Garrosh it seemed either in prayer or thought, perhaps both. Would she try to deny it still? Or was offended by his straight forward question, probably picking at an already open wound?

"I take it day by day, Hellscream." She finally replied, her voice ragged.

It suddenly occurred to Garrosh she had been trying to place her emotions back in check before her response, much like he had done. How she must feel her pain, masked by a smile and a strong will.

"But how?" He asked desperately leaning forward in his chair. He wanted to know the ends and outs of dealing with the disparity that was at the brink of overwhelming all his sensibilities. "How do you do it when it feels like you're walking around with a gaping hole in your chest that's never going to close?"

Jaina brushed a tendril of loose hair behind her ear, pondering over the question. She didn't know why he was asking this, but she felt in her heart there was more here than he was saying, much more. If he wanted to know how she coped then was he trying to learn himself? Who could have brought the arrogant Garrosh so low, to ask for help from his most hated foe?

When she finally trusted herself to speak and look at him with out breaking down, she found his brown eyes misty. Jaina had never liked Garrosh Hellscream, he was to blood thirsty and head strong, even for an orc, but at that moment she read his heart and found a kindred spirit in her sorrow.

"I comfort myself with the knowledge that while the body ages, the sword rusts, even Azeroth it self falls to ruin, the soul lives on, Garrosh. Thrall and I may not be together, here, in this life at this time, but we are soul mates. I live my life every day with that gaping hole in my chest, but I know one day when loyalties, and hatreds matter not I shall meet him at the warrior's hall and we shall finally be together for eternity." She smiled through tears, but didn't seem to know she was crying. "I can wait a few more decades for that."

Instinctively Jaina knew that was the end of the conversation. Rising quietly, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder for only a few seconds before taking leave of the chamber. Garrosh did not even acknowledge her leaving, his eyes distant and vacant. He heard the door to the room click shut just as the tears came. The feel of her hand still lingered on his shoulder, and it reminded him of Zaela's. Hot, large tear drops brimmed his brown eyes at the thought; blurring his vision before coursing down his cheeks. Jaina could cope because she wouldn't always be alone in this life, even for a few hours it was rumored the two leaders had found solace together. And besides, she hadn't killed Thrall, she hadn't sent him to his death. They both knew that they loved one another but Garrosh hadn't even told Zaela that he…

With a cry of disparity he upturned the table that held his carefully cooked meal, sending roast boar, bread and pitchers of beer into the air. He couldn't cope, it wasn't just despair talking, inwardly he knew, he would never be able to simply cope with what he had done. In fact, a part of him knew he didn't want to cope, he didn't deserve such mercy. All he wanted was oblivion, to be wiped off the face of Azeroth, so that perhaps he would meet Zaela in the great dark beyond and beg for her forgiveness for his down-right foolishness. People he had been far closer to had perished in worse situation than this, but he had felt nothing like this for them. Never had any made him feel the way Zaela made him feel, and never, he was positive, would he feel that way again. And now she was gone, because of him.

Garrosh felt a hard lump rise in his throat, a feeling he was used to for the past three days. A guttural cry of anguish escaped his lips, as always he tried fighting it back, but failed. Sinking into his chair, he sat there wallowing in grief. He couldn't stay like this forever, he knew, barely coming out of his room, eating nothing, talking to no one. But what else could he do when life truly seemed not to matter anymore? Zaela wouldn't want to see him like this, he knew, she had relied on him in her time of mourning. He wondered briefly somewhere, was she looking down on him trying to comfort him. The thought was a soothing one, as he imagined that gruff no nonsense voice scolding him sharply about sitting around and crying. Zaela wouldn't want mourning, Zaela would want vengeance for the cowards that had slain her.

He tilted his head up to the ceiling, talking through tears. "If you can hear me Zaela, I swear to you I will do all I can to help your people bring the Twilight Hammer down, then your soul may be properly free to dwell at the warrior's hall."

Although he would never admit it, Jaina's words had given him strength. The promise of the soul going on beyond this life, it made him feel Zaela was not gone forever, only until he could meet with her and finally reveal his feelings.

After three days, feeling much refreshed, with the aid of Jaina's words, and his solemn promise, Garrosh strode out of the private quarter of Grommash hold. The servants and guards smiled as he snapped at them in his usual feral way. What ever the human sorceress had done, it had worked wonders. Yet, all noticed it seemed there was a part of him missing, it seemed more forced now, than when his threats had come so easily. It was like half of him was missing, but half of Garrosh was still more than many could handle. Although no one dare inform their renewed Warchief, but the three days he'd been in his depression was the usual orcish mourning custom for when one lost a mate.